


Knock Twice, And Keep Smiling

by thnxrose



Category: DC Comics, Gotham - Fandom
Genre: M/M, Murder Husbands, first person POV, kings of gotham
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-05
Updated: 2018-04-05
Packaged: 2019-04-18 14:17:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14214981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thnxrose/pseuds/thnxrose
Summary: In which we see how the rulers of Gotham are handling things, through the eyes of a street kid. Set during 4x16.





	1. The Promotion

I was just a messenger. But they always shoot the messenger.

 

Sofia Falcone was in a coma, and it was common knowledge that she probably wouldn’t pull through. All the businesses, gangs, and criminals who’s allegiance she had won were now floating aimlessly, unsure of where they stood in this new new Gotham. There was no king or queen of the city anymore, and the golden boy Jim Gordon was in the hospital. We had no one to look to, no one who would keep order.

We were the ones who found out he was back. The whispers always came from us. The street urchins, everyone’s eyes and ears, the little birds of the city. We were always the ones who heard the news first, and we were the ones that spread it to everyone. Most of us worked for one specific gang or business, and we raced each other to give them the news before the others. Sometimes it was for fun, running through the alleys and along the rooftops, laughing at the sun, defying our broken lives for a few minutes. Other times it was life or death. I was one of the fastest, so I’ve seen other children cry when they find out their boss is in a feud with mine. They know that their days might be numbered, if I get any really important information first. Sometimes I let them win, if I know my boss is in a good mood, or if the kid is particularly young. I can handle the punishment, but I can’t handle seeing another tiny crumpled body in the river.

When the Penguin got out of Arkham, I was definetly the first to hear about it. I had a friend who was a guard there, and she called me as soon as he hit the streets. I turned the information over to my boss, feeling proud that I knew before the GCPD even got there. My boss smiled and shook his head, amused at the former king’s escapades. We thought that he’d disappear, leave Gotham this time, for good. No one was crazy enough to try and take it over for a fourth time. This was what everyone thought, what I had thought, before I had the pleasure of meeting Oswald Cobblepot and Edward Nygma.

It only took three weeks. Three weeks, and Gotham city was under the Penguin’s thumb again. My boss, whilst annoyed, wasn’t stupid enough to try and kick up a fuss. He signed on the dotted line, promising loyalty in exchange for protection. I wasn’t allowed in the room when it happened, but I heard the Penguin say that the only reason my boss wasn’t dead, was that he wasn’t alone in his betrayal. Everyone had betrayed him for Sofia. My boss apparently didn’t deserve any “special treatment”. Then I heard a laugh, chilling and cold, and realised that he must have an associate with him, or a friend. It was odd, to think that a man who was feared by so many could have friends. The pair soon made their exit; I could tell by the return of the warmth in the air. But my gang, the Chairmen, were just one stop on the way for them. Soon, the last gang was shadowed by Oswald’s umbrella, and it was as if no one had ever heard the name “Sofia Falcone”. I thought it wouldn’t change much for me, as the ruling class tended not to get involved with the lives of the messengers. But, luckily (or unluckily) for me, the current King Pin had a fondness for both children and little birds.

I was called to my boss’ office, which had only happened to me twice before. Neither of those times had been particularly fun. When I opened the door, I was surprised to find him sitting behind his desk, smiling down at me. He gestured to the seat in front of him and I hesitantly took it, afraid to look him in the eye. 

“So, Sara. You’ve been with us for quite a while now, haven’t you? Almost eight years. I’m honestly a bit surprised you’re still alive.”

I nodded, keeping my face blank. I was 15 years old, and had been running for the Chairmen since I was 7. I was getting a bit old to be sneaking around unnoticed, despite my small build, and I was worried that this was when I was going to be declared no longer useful.

“You’re well liked, and actually trusted too. Most of the boys take a shine to the kids, but to trust them is a different thing entirely... Why do they trust you?”

He leaned forward in his chair, close enough now that I could see the stubble on his neck and chin, the discolouration in his teeth, and the flecks of grey in his hair. His face was set in a frown, and I knew one wrong move might be the end of me, or at least of my employment. I willed myself not to move, and simply stayed silent. This seemed to be the answer he wanted, as he sat back up and smiled again, satisfied.

“Well Sara, you keep your secrets secret. You’re quiet, unassuming, and polite. Those are exactly the kind of qualities that I’m looking for, for a new position that just opened. I’m offering it to you. And you should be greatful that I am, as you’re getting too big to be called a “little bird” anymore, am I right?”

I nodded quickly, and let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding in. Most kids are just tossed to the street when they get past a certain age, but apparently I was different. I was well liked, as I was quick, polite, and never made mistakes. They liked me, so were more inclined to trust me. With more trust comes more difficult and dangerous jobs, which were obviously more likely to get me killed. But this didn’t seem like a choice I got to make. This seemed like an honour they were bestowing on me, but only because no one else wanted it.

“You’ll still be a messenger, of sorts”, he began, handing me a slim file, “We need you to be our go between with Mr Cobblepot. He expects... weekly reports of all activity, criminal or otherwise. A bit excessive, but apparently nessecary. I can’t spare any man to waste an hour a week for this, and I’ve heard he likes children, so welcome to your promotion. You’ll be escorted to and from his house each Monday, and all you have to do his hand him the file and answer any questions he might have. You’re a smart girl, I’m sure you’re up for it, right?”

His smile grew as mine dropped off of my face. He had pushed me into a very dangerous corner. I couldn’t refuse the job, but if I didn’t I might face the wrath of the Penguin for being the bearer of any bad news. And, as a bonus for my boss, if I did get killed, when the word got out public opinion would shift. One strandard that Gothamites still had was being opposed to the murder of children. If Penguin did that, with such a fragile grip on the city, he might just be knocked off of his throne. It was a winning situation, at least for my boss. I tried to rearrange my face into more neutral lines and thanked him for the opportunity. Then I left as quickly as possible, wanting to enjoy perhaps my last free weekend for a long time.

Monday morning seemed to appear out of nowhere. I was given a dark purple dress, matching shoes, and even a pin for my hair. They were the nicest things I’ve ever worn, but they looked wrong on me, like they were 2d accessories on a real person. I was escorted out to a car at 8.50am, tripping with every other step in the little heels. I knew the man in the driver’s seat, and had known him for over five years. Alan Finn, the boss’ own chauffeur. He offered me a square of chocolate, citing it’s ability to calm the nerves. He tried to make conversation, but soon sensed I would rather be left alone. It was only a 5 minute car journey. I could‘ve run it in 4 and a half. The big iron gates were open, and we drove up the long street in silence. I got out, waving goodbye to Alan with a wobbly smile on my face. He smiled back at me, a little sadly, as if knowing I wasn’t safe anymore. As if I might not climb down the marble steps again, after I climbed up them.

The door opened as soon as I rang the door bell, which didn’t surprise me. A short man in a charcoal grey suit closed the door behind me, shutting out any thoughts of running away. He wore a shiny silver name tag that simply said “Mr. Dunloe.” He looked me up and down, and his expression told me I was found lacking. Sighing quietly, he asked for my invitation, which I had been holding onto like it was my life. I handed it over to him, seeing the creases my fingers had made in the paper. He inspected it for a few seconds and then told me to follow him, trotting quickly off down one of the many corridors.

I struggled to keep up in the heels, I was so used to running in leather boots or faded trainers. I noticed that the floor was so polished I could see my reflection, and that the walls had no cupboards, nowhere to hide something in. There were many windows, tall and curved with no curtains. Empty candle holders linked the window sills, but they had telltale wax markings, showing me that they were used. There were surely a million and one more details I had failed to observe, but I was preoccupied with whether or not I would survive my oncoming meeting.

Mr Dunloe stopped so abruptly that I almost crashed into him. We were standing outside a huge black door, a bell on the side of the frame, and an umbrella carved in the middle of the glossy wood. He turned to face me and gestured to a single empty seat. I sat down quickly, greatful that at least there was no one else waiting.

“Mr Cobblepot will see you shortly. He will be ready when the bell rings. Knock twice, and keep smiling.” 

That was all the advice I got before he took back off down the corridor, his shoes making slight squeaking sounds against the tiles. I was alone. I could feel my entire body begin to shake, so took a deep breath to try and calm myself. I would be fine. The boss had said he liked kids. I quickly opened the files on the business’ dealings, reading them as if I hadn’t already done so so much that the words were ingrained in my skull. I could handle any question he threw at me about the Chairmen, I knew more about them than I knew about myself. But these words on the page were like my lifeline, so I read them again.

I barely made it through the first sentence when the huge door opened and a woman walked out, clearly annoyed. But she had the look of someone who’s friends had pissed them off, not someone who had been screwed over by a crime boss. She clearly hadn’t noticed me, and I was happy to let it stay that way, but as she turned to leave I was in plain view. I got a good look at her and took a mental picture, having developed a good memory for faces over the years. She had shoulder length dark hair, almost black, but not quite, with a long fringe. She had dark eyes too, and wore lipstick that matched my dress. Dark clothing as well, a black winter coat, with a navy blue sweater underneath, black trousers and leather boots. She looked like a shadow but she moved like anything but, nodding at me as she began to walk away. I prepared for myself for the bell to ring, but before it did I heard some more advice, from the mystery woman as she waltzed down the corridor. 

“Have fun with Ed and Oswald, kid. But a word of advice: don’t blink. They’ll toy with you a bit, so stand your ground.”

She disappeared around the corner before I could even ask for her name. I was very curious about her now, as she had referred to the Penguin by his first name, and seemed to know his friend too. I knew every powerful person in Gotham, so why the hell didn’t I know her? Just another worry to add to my growing pile, and to make matters worse, the bell started to ring.


	2. A Deal

I was clutching the file so hard my nails made four little indents in the weak cardboard. Standing up, I felt smaller than ever, and the two step walk to the door seemed much longer. I could see a whisper of my reflection in the wood, I could see myself shaking. I took a breath. There was no avoiding this. I knocked twice, and plastered a smile on my face, fearing it would fall right off. Three seconds past, each one seeming to last longer than the one before. A tired voice called out, “Come in, then”, and my fate was sealed. I pushed open the door, seeing my reflection disappear into nothing, never having been there in the first place. My eyes took a minute to adjust to the darkness of the room, and I let the door slam shut behind me. Not a good start.

There was a man sitting at a desk, half moon spectacles resting at the very edge of his nose, as if he despised them being there. His face was ageless, neither old nor young, though in it I could see the memories of both suffering and joy. His hair was dark as any alley in the Narrows, and upon it was set a stripe of purple; his eyes were grey as every Gotham morning, but in them was a light like the pale moon. He seemed to be made of the city; perhaps his blood was like the water at the pier, clear and cold. It wouldn’t have surprised me in the slightest. Though most of it was hidden behind the desk, the suit he was wearing obviously cost ten times more than my dress, and yet I knew it wasn’t a problem for him to buy. Although this description of the infamous Penguin might seem a bit tame, I know from experience how important it is to appear nice. To appear kind, concerned, and helpful. At first. He was doing a tremendous job of it. The man by his side was faring a little worse.

He was a man who had never grown into his height, clad in a radiant green two-piece, clutching a slim cane, and wearing a slightly battered hat. He had very angular, precise features, tall cheek bones and bright eyes. His lips were curled into a Cheshire Cat smile, reminding me of the one time we had gotten our hands on a copy of Alice and Wonderland. He moved like the Cheshire Cat too, drawing himself up slowly, letting his free hand brush the Penguin’s shoulder as he straighened himself. The pair stared at me like I was a new toy, mildly interesting, at least for now. I was frozen on the spot, too terrified to move, as the penny had finally dropped. I was alone, in a room, with not just The Penguin but also The Riddler.

“Have a seat.”

The Penguin has taken off his glasses and placed them in his breast pocket, and he looked down at me like I confused him. I leaped to obey his command, sitting down quickly in the large velvet seat in front of him. I sank into the soft material, allowing myself to feel it with my left hand, my right one still holding the file in a death grip. I hadn’t looked either of them in the eye since entering the room, and I was scared to lift my gaze from the floor.

“You’re a long way from your home turf, aren’t you little bird?”

The Riddler had spoken first. That threw me a little, but I forced myself to meet his gaze, managing to also stutter out a reply.

“Y-yes sir. Well, actually it’s not that far away sir, I could run it in four and a half minutes, i-if I needed to.”

Instant regret. There was no need for me to say that second sentence, it was irrelevant and it gave out information about me. Information was my job, I knew how much damage even a little can do. Amature mistake. The men shared a look, clearly unsure of what to make of me. I wished I could sink fully into the velvet and disappear. The Penguin cleared his throat, probably eager to move things along.

“So, you’re a fast little bird. And one who got herself a promotion. You’re from the Chairmen, right? You have their finances?”

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak again, and handed over the file, hoping he wouldn’t notice the markings my nails had carved into the edge. He took it from me and flicked it open, skimming the many paragraphs across the five pages. He then snapped it shut again and handed it over to The Riddler, who was clearly here to read about the details. The Penguin worked with the people who came with them. He leaned forward a little, clasping his hands together as he looked at me. I was seemingly a puzzle he couldn’t work out.

“So, what’s your name, little bird?”

“Sara, Mr Penguin.”

His lips curled slightly at the mention of his name, as if it was nice to have a reminder that he was king.

“You may call me Mr Cobblepot. The Penguin is for my enemies. Oswald for my friends, who are few and far between. Some people don’t enjoy my company for very long.”

He chuckled, as if it amused him to think back on betrayals he had suffered.

“But, you’ll be coming here every week, so who knows, we might become friends. I’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Umm, yes Mr Pe- Mr Cobblepot, of course I would.”

A full smile spread across his face, and it did a little to ease my fears. He looked up to the Riddler, who had deemed the file satisfactory and had placed it down on the desk as we were talking. 

“It might take you a little longer to win over Ed here though, he’s more uptight about his name. Isn’t that right, Riddler?”

“Ed” pursed his lips at the mention of his real name, clearly not a fan of it. He didn’t appear particularly annoyed that Oswald had used it, but something told me he would not be so lenient with me.

“The Riddler, perferably, little bird. Or Mr Nygma, if you’ll allow “Sara”.”

I nodded, more afraid of him now than I was of Oswald. The king of Gotham seemed more like a kindly uncle than a crime boss, but I supposed I had only just met him.

“So, Sara, how long have you been with the Chairmen?”, The Riddler began, the Cheshire Cat smile back on his face.

“About 8 years.”

“8 years? That’s forever in Gotham kid, I’ve only known Ozzie here for half that time. I’m honestly surprised you’re still alive.”

I couldn’t help the twitch of my lips at this new nickname. “Ozzie”! It was clear payback for revealing his name to me, but Oswald seemed unaffected by it. 

“Yes, well it’s clear that Sara is a survivor, Eddie. She’s made it through this meeting so far, hasn’t she?”

“Eddie” set in motion a game it was clear they were used to playing. Cat and Mouse. But who was which, it was unclear. 

“So far, Ozzie. People have died in that chair.”

Those words brought me back to reality. It took everything I had not to move from where I was sitting. I could imagine the sticky blood coating the place where my head was, could feel it sliding down the back of my neck. I kept still though, knowing that I had to play along. The pair seemed impressed, giving each other another look, communicating in a language I could not understand. Turning back to me, it seemed like the Penguin wanted to ease my fears. 

“Let’s not scare the child, Ed. I’m pretty sure we replaced the chair you’re referring to. We wouldn’t want her telling tales on us to the Chairmen, now would we?”

The Riddler shook his head, amused. He knew that nothing I said to the Chairmen would make any difference to their kingdom, at least in the long run. They held all the keys, I was just a guest. And I shouldn’t outstay my welcome. That was when I had realised I had no idea how to leave. I couldn’t see too eager to go, but I also couldn’t seem like I felt entitled to stay. I had given them the file, but I couldn’t just get up and go. I needed to turn the conversation to anything outside this room, to anything but myself and the Chairmen. But there was nothing else we all had in common, except... the woman who had just left. Before my brain could weigh the pros and cons, my mouth decided that this was the best course of action.

“So, umm, Mr Cobblepot, Mr, ah, Nygma. I wanted to ask, if you don't mind, about the woman who was in here before me.. I feel like I know her from somewhere, but I can’t place it.”

They both seemed a little surprised I had spoken. A sliver of a glance passed between them, barely needing to confirm the attitude they were going to take towards my question. 

“Well, Sara, you’re talking about an old friend of mine, of ours,” The Penguin began, clutching his hands together a little tighter.

“It’s no surprise that you recognise her, actually,” The Riddler continued, deliberately placing a hand on Oswald’s shoulder. He visibly loosened his grip at Ed’s touch, and I felt as if I had seen a side of their relationship I wasn’t supposed to. Even this, something so small, was signifigant in Gotham. 

“I’m surprised you don’t know her name actually, with all the information you’re used to handling. She’s Jim Gordon’s ex, she’s the new queen of the Narrows, she’s the Doc! She’s Lee Thompkins.”

Now that it had been laid out clearly for me, it seemed ridiculous that I hadn’t placed her before. Sure, I’d never met her, but I should still have known who she was. This was a slip up, but I was glad it had been an inconsequential one. And anyway, I had a new job now. Making conversation with two probably insane criminal masterminds. 

“What did she tell you about us little bird?”, The Riddler asked, not wanting to drop the topic yet. I kept my face blank, trying to think of a conceivable lie, but immediately abandoning that plan. They would surely see right through me. The truth was risky, but necessary.

“Well, she said that um, I should st-stand my ground with you two,” I began, staring firmly at the ground once again.  
“She said you would try to uh, play me.”

The Riddler’s expression didn’t change, but something flickered behind Oswald’s eyes. She had given me a warning. Not an unwarranted one, but still. If she wasn’t their friend, he probably would’ve taken it as the height of disrespect.

“That’s Lee, she’s always looking out for the little guy. How thoughtful. See, these are the kinds of friends you keep close, little bird. We can talk about it more next week.”

I was little bird again. And that was my que to leave. I stood up on shaky legs, greatful to be walking out of here at all. But there was still next week, and the week after that, and all the weeks stretching into oblivion. It would only be by Ed and Oswald’s good graces that I survived.


End file.
